Farewell My Darling
by Kitty Felone
Summary: Erik is mad for Christine and even after he loses her he still craves her touch. What happens when years pass by and the maddness within comes out as temporary insanity? Will Christine be safe of will her fears only enhance her demise? COMPLETE!


**Farewell My Darling  
**April 20, 2005  
_Kitty Felone_

I threw her against the cold hard floor of my lair deep beneath the Earth's surface where all live existed. Humanity once traveled to the unknown depths of this domain to try and defeat me but I had escaped with enough time to hide out until they left. I had watched as my obsession fled from me, her fear, sorrow, and anger radiating off of her face and reaching me within the cold dark cellars of my fate.

She now lay down on the ground below me, her face wracked with torture and agony. I had erased any known thought of her life when I stole her away from the corpse I had created out of her husband. I had destroyed whatever happiness she could have known just as she had done for me; Ionly repaid the debt.

But now she lay before me, sprawled out upon the floor, breathing heavy, and her chest rising and falling with every known breath her lungs contracted with. Fear was clearly etched upon her face and she stared up at me, knowing that I was far from pleased. She had used me, abused me, and left me to die. She had tainted my soul, tarnished it and made me kill for love, and then left me for a simple reason not worthy of using. She had led me on, allowed herself to become over come with my lust, and then left me when I needed her the most. She had opened her heart, given me her light, and held out her hand for me to take and when I needed her sympathy the most she had left me alone, tarnished, and to die without anything but my sins to keep me company.

I had done everything for her and she had done naught in return.

Clearly she had to be punished.

"Please," she breathed out while her fright withstood the depths of her inner feelings, her inner turmoil taking over her very breath. She tried to scoot back but struggled, trying not to rip her dress, choke herself, or lose her balance and collapse. Her breathing became irregular with fear and her face began to pale as I took a single step in her direction.

"Please Erik—"

"Enough!" I roared out at her, my voice taking to that of an octave I had wished to never use upon her. I was mad; I was just mad. I wasn't just angry with her or fed up with her actions, I wasn't just lost into a sea of torture and agony, but I have gone mad to the point of no return.

The point of no return, funny that and how is has a new meaning to serve purpose to. From the play of _Don Juan Triumphant_ I had decided to force her to chose between her suitors, between myself—a tutor that wants only the best for her—and that young boy that was clearly only noticing her after she became famous. I had forced her to decide and she had chosen me, as if my face to her was nothing more than just pity. I held the noose around her lovers throat, pulled on it to remind him that he could die at any moment, to make him groan out in pain and to remind her of the seriousness of this situation.

But she had chosen me and it was because she had pitied me _and_ that she wanted her lover to remain alive. I wasn't sure whether or not I would be able to trust her, to know if she would be faithful to me and I didn't want to test it, to be hurt again. I have been hurt far too much already, antagonized to the end of the line and now that the line is stretched and run out of length I have lost the only nerve I ever knew. Even if she wasn't unfaithful to me she would rather wake up with her eyes closed tightly rather than to see the face of the monster she had used. She would rather clench her eyes tightly rather than look in his eyes while he took her each and every night.

Oh, to be so close to her as I was had begun to make me want to take her right then, on the cold stone of my dungeon, my Hell. But I won't give her that credit; I won't take what has already been claimed. She had already broken the seal; her _husband_ had already tarnished her. She was worthless to me now, no longer my pride and joy, no longer the little innocent child I once loved. In her eyes I saw nothing but fear; I used to see fear _and_ innocence, but now fear was alone. Which only meant one thing: she was guilty.

She knew why she was below me right now and it only angered me even more. She mistreated me and she knew it while she did it! She _knew_ it!

I looked into her eyes, into the eyes of the little bitch beneath my very grasp. She no longer appeared the child I once knew, no longer appeared innocent and naive. No, now she looked every much the slut she was, every much the whore she had grown into. I took a step closer and watched as she crawled backwards in fear. In her eyes I saw her nightly courses with her deceased husband; I saw how bad this little wrench could get when turned on just right. I saw as she screamed out his name, as she dug her nails into his back and begged him to fulfill her, to take her higher than she's ever gone. I saw as she went down on her knees before him and took his full length into her mouth; I saw as she swallowed him whole and savored his taste, as he spilled into her mouth and dripped down her lips. I _saw_ the lust in her eyes as she gazed up at him, swallowing his seed, wanting him to take her roughly.

And now those eyes were turned to me and were etched greatly with fear. Oh how her eyes portrayed the truth!

Her sniffles had brought me back to where I stood before her, staring down at her, my ferocity clearly visible in my eyes, my face wracked with anger, my teeth baring.

"Your lover had said he would protect you," I stated softly but I knew there was a hint of sarcasm etched back there. "Where is he?"

I took another step closer and she scooted back in fear. A whimper rose from her throat and she figured it would probably change my mind, show me how I was _hurting_ her, but I simply chuckled in return.

"Oh," mused I, "to be young again and take back whatever thoughts you had on using me, isn't that right, Christine? To be young and innocent again and take my choice when I had offered you eternal love."

I spread my arm out and signaled to my lair, to her surroundings to remind her of what could have been hers had she left that boy for a real man. I had released her, hoping my guilt would work against her but nay it had worked. _None_ of it had worked! She had come back to me, seen me crying and sobbing, telling her how much I had loved her, how much I had yearned her for love in return, and all she gave me was her ring, to give me _good_ times of when she was by my side, of hoping that it would give me strength to go on.

Boy was she wrong for that simply triggered fire in my heart, unleashed the demons in my mind, and damaged my soul.

I had let her go, making her think she would be safe, and I took the following four years to plot my revenge.

I had learned she had a full family, four strapping boys and a young girl. I had known that the boys were Raoul's pride and joy and that the girl was Christine's. I had known that they were as much an easy target as Christine herself, as Raoul had figured me dead. At least Christine had never told him she knew I can't die that easily. I have lived far too long to know the pain of death.

"Why Erik?" She breathed out as tears strolled down her face in such a fast motion I had almost forgotten that she was still human, that her female emotions were still there. "Why are you doing this to me?"

"Why?" I repeated her words with sarcasm. Why did I want to extract my revenge? Why was I so bent out of shape on her _feeling_ my horrors?

"Why…" I had groaned out and turned to glance around at my lair, at the elegant decorations that I had restored after they were stolen by that blaster childhood friend of Christine's. I glanced down at the lake that was the path to my home.

"Why indeed, Christine," I replied and slowly angled my face to glare at her, showing her my hate. "Why?"

"Erik," she sobbed. "Please!"

"No!" I screamed back at her, stunning her. I had never used such a voice on her in all my life that it had startled her, probably thinking she would be able to cool me until I had forgotten my temper.

I had broken into her home, slain her four boys while they slept, reached the room where her daughter had slept and noticed the beautiful image Christine had passed down to her little girl but at the sight of her sleeping figure I was almost fooled. When her eyes opened they were that of Raoul's and my anger had returned. I was clearly ready to kidnap the little girl and make her my child, to raise Christine all over again and begin anew, but those eyes… they were Raoul's. She had to go and with the single flick of my wrist her neck had cracked in several places and she was no longer a burden to bother with.

Then I made my way to the bedroom where the parents of the five children slept peacefully, never knowing their children had been slain within a second. Raoul opened his eyes first and when he saw me I clearly saw the same fear I was seeing on Christine now in his eyes, only Christine has the fear that I might rape her.

"No," I growled as I crouched down to her level and stared her in the eyes. Since I had lived alone in secrecy all over again I had taken to darker tones—if it were even possible—and now my mask was black, my clothes were always black—the inside of my cloak was black—and my furniture was now black.

"I won't rape you, Christine." That had caused her to relax a little, as if most of her fear was directed from my anger to her possibly being raped. "I won't give you that privilege of having me make love to you. You have lost that chance, Christine." Her eyes widened, sensing there was more of a reason for which I had brought her and I had a feeling she knew that it didn't have anything to do with making her stay with me.

"Erik?" She barely managed to breathe out, but I ignored her quiet protest and continued on, glancing down at her body to view what could have been mine if that boy hadn't have stepped into her life.

"You have proved naught to me but a useless slut, a whore that had gone with a status higher than mine simply to suit your needs. You have hurt me more than the Gypsies ever could; you have taken whatever part of a heart I held, molded it to fit yours, then crushed it when you found another heart stronger." I raised my eyes to stare into hers and I continued as if she had meant nothing to me.

"You have betrayed me and I have lost all known love for even humanity. You have used me, hurt me, and left me to die and for that I repay the debt," her eyes widened at that and a hand shot up to cover her mouth. "Naturally I wouldn't mind taking you, even right here on the floor of my cave, but you have already been spoiled. You have already lusted another man, proved unfaithful to me. You have already tarnished your once beautiful self, your once innocent soul to become nothing more than the whore you are."

"Erik," she breathed out past her fingertips. "Please tell me what you mean."

I stared at her for a moment, my eyes shining with nothing more than hate as hers glimmered back with fresh tears. To tell her what I meant, to explain to her what I planned to do to her. To give her a clue as to what I want from her.

"Nothing," I explained before standing back up. "I mean nothing to you."

Her eyes widened even more and her fingers drifted away from her lips, her mouth now gaping open. I stared down at her from the bottom of my eyes, my head facing straight to the wall. She had done it all and done nothing good for me. She had known this would happen but she only ignored the consequences.

"Stand up, Christine," I demanded. My voice was amazingly cool and relaxed for some strange reason; was I ready to do this to her? Yes, I was _yarning_ for this!

"Stand up and accept your fate."

Slowly she did as told and got to her feet. Her hands stayed braced to her chest and lips were trembling in fear. I stepped back and took a long look at her figure, at her amazing body as it stood before me, bathed in white fabrics of all kinds but splashed with a crimson paint, the same paint that once traveled through her lover's body.

"Beautiful," I murmured and stared at her chest as it heaved. I lowered my gaze to her round hips and noticed that they had filled out from baring five children. I lowered my eyes even more and glanced at her lengthy legs from beneath the dress, beneath the rips and tears of the fabric. Finally, I raised my eyes back to hers and repeated myself.

"You are still beautiful."

"Then why are you doing this?" She had screamed out.

"I said silence!" I roared out and brought my hand out to her, the back of my palm slamming against her cheek. The force of my anger traveling through my body, through my veins, was enough to send her flying to the floor. She whimpered when she landed and braced herself while curling up into a ball.

"Erik," she cried and turned to me and for a moment, I could have been fooled into believing she was the same innocent girl I had practically raised,

But she wasn't; she was a whore.

"Did you rather enjoy your marriage, Christine?" I spat out her name as if it were venom on my tongue. I took a step towards her. "Did you rather enjoy letting your lover spill his seed into your throat, into your mouth? Did you rather enjoy his taste upon your lips?"

She gawked up at me, clearly amazed at the words I was using. The shock in her face had told me all I needed to know and I reached down to wrap my fingers around her throat and yank her to her feet, forcing herself to my face only scant inches away.

"You actually thought you lived in peace," I grumbled out. "You actually thought that I was dead or had left you alone? Hah! Oh, my dear Christine—how innocent you _still_ are but it's clearly not enough to save you now!"

I threw her away from me and sent her tumbling backwards, her body crashing into my mirrors and landing before them in a heap. The glass shards had cut into her body and a few pieces still stuck out from her dress. Red liquid seeped out of her wounds now and as she tried to push herself up on her hands I could see her face twisted with agony. I stalked towards her.

"You little _bitch_," I seethed out. "I watched each and every night as you took that boy into your mouth, into your body, and shared your _love_! I watched as you cared for your children from Anthony and all the way down to Clarissa!"

At the mention of her oldest and youngest she gazed up at me in terror. "Erik—you were stalking me?"

"Worse," I murmured and reached down to grab her again. "I plotted and planned and I dreamt—I _dreamt_—of this night for _years_!"

I spun us around and tightening my grip on her neck, I began dragging her towards my desk. "Oh how I dreamt this night for years," I groaned out as if the pleasure of the action were ecstasy on my lips.

I slammed her against the edge of the desk and pinned her there, ignoring her frantic grappling of trying to stop my hands from opening my side drawer. I could hear her breathing heave within her chest; hear her lung wheezing in the pain it took to inhale. I could even hear her cries as if they were louder than a thunderstorm—louder than my fierce anger.

With a rage I withdrew my weapon and slammed the drawer closed, not caring a single bit that her finger was in the way and had slammed against it. A loud _crack_ sounded and directly after I heard her frantic scream as the pain took over.

"My dear Christine," I groaned out her name as if it were the wonderful bath oils she loved to use. I released her from the desk just enough to turn her around and pin my body against her. I hid the weapon behind my back as I unsheathed it and looked down into her eyes.

I lowered my face to hers, wanting badly to kiss her _only_ if she were the same Christine from before, only if she were Christine Daae and not Christine de Chagny.

"You are more than Aphrodite," I groaned into her lips, my own lips hanging carefully over hers. Her eyes were staring up into mine and her lips were trembling. Tears continued to stroll down her face in a torment that could have once reached my heart and soul and only now triggered the madness within.

"Erik please," she whispered against my lips.

"But every Greek God had to die sometime to make them legend," I murmured. The look in her eyes was beautiful. Her beautiful glass orbs as they widened in fear at knowing what lie behind my back, grasped tightly in my fists. At the sparkle of hope that had once shimmered in her eyes and now became nothing other than the unshedding of new tears.

"Every woman has their place to keep and you have forgotten yours the moment you left me to rot."

"No," she breathed out while she shook her head softly. "Erik no—please don't do this."

My lips slowly formed a grin and I couldn't help but enjoy the pleasure I was receiving from this. The humor of it was that she would look brilliant in almost any color but red had brought out her complexion, as she was almost always pale.

"That dress is too white for you, Christine," I mumbled and glanced down to the tops of her creamy white breasts; creamy white breasts that had been used for her lover and endless amount of time and for her five children. It seemed as if she had let the whole world savor her taste but kept me at bay, as if the feel of my deformity touching her skin would give her maggots or worms.

"You would look much better in," I paused as I raised a finger to trail down her shoulder and to the blood that had splattered onto her when I killed Raoul. "Red."

"Erik—no." She cried silently. "Please don't do this, Erik please!"

"Too late, my sweet," I narrowed my eyes and slowly grew ready for the final plunge of my existence. "Too late for sorrow. Too late for pity. And _far_ too late to go back now."

And that was my cue. I reeled back and flung my arm in her direction, the blade of the dagger sticking out of the base of my fist. I stared into her eyes as I brought the knife into her upper right chest plate, as I dug the blade through her dress and skin, the fabric melding together with her flesh.

Bloody sprayed out just then at the same time her tiny fists gripped the edges of my jacket. Her voice screeched to a point I never expected Christine Daae's voice to hit. Her blood splattered against my jacket, against my body and face, and even against my mask. I could feel the blood as it touched my skin, feel how warm it was as it flung out to smack me in the eyes and only succeeded in landing on my lids, as it reached up to my hair and coated me with a texture I thought was only possible through greasy and oily hair. The warmth trailed down my neck in little currents, like rivers of blood.

Her lips parted as I held the blade in her heart, her eyes gazing up at me, wondering what happened in her life to cause this to happen, to cause her Angel of Music to turn against her. But I could tell her exactly the reason she was frantically searching for.

"If you're wondering," I spoke coolly, casually, as if I wasn't doing anything different. Her lips closed then reparted, as if she were trying to grasp a voice for the words that were racing through her mind just then.

"You lost your Angel of Music the moment you ran off with Raoul de Chagny."

A tear fell from her eye and it only pissed of off even more. How dare she cry! How dare she expect my sympathy after how she had treated me! How dare she ask for anything in return for what she had done to me! My eyes narrowed just then and I began twisted the blade around, knowing she was slowly getting used to the metal protruding from her flesh, and decided she needed more pain in that twisted heart of hers.

"You minus well die anyways, Christine." I explained as I continued twisted the knife. Her eyes clenched tightly and her fists began to shake, as if she were desperate to hold onto my body for her life. How ironic, that she would grab me for strength now when she had given it up long ago.

"You will have nothing else to live for," I paused the twisting of the blade and waited until she was able to comprehend my words a little more. For a woman who was easily kidnapped she sure had enough strength to stay awake and stay alive when her heart was literally pouring out all over us.

"You will have nothing else to live for," I repeated myself when I felt her body resting against mine, her breathing labored with each passing moment she had left to live. "For I have already killed your friend Meg, I have already killed all five children, and I have taken the pleasures of killing your husband." My voice took on a satanic tone as I explained her final fate into her ear.

"You have nothing left to live for so it's only natural that I save you from condemning yourself to Hell for suicide," I whispered. "I give you that alone, Christine. You were always my Angel and Angel's cannot exist in Hell where Devil's like myself live."

I wrapped my unused arm around her back and held her to me as she struggled to remain breathing. I yanked the knife out of her, hearing her whimper as it ripped through her body a second time. I tossed it aside and I heard it as it _clanged_ to the ground away from us. I wrapped my other arm around her and held her close to my body as she slowly died, her blood seeping out all over the both of us. I dug my face in the crook of her neck, her hair covering my nose, her scent filling my nostrils and my senses.

"I have loved you from the first moment I saw you but it was different back then," I murmured into her ear. "I had loved you as a pupil, as a daughter, but after you grew into a woman and I heard you in a different way, saw you in a different light, my feelings have grown and I saw you more as a woman that could repay her debt by showing me love, giving me a light to brighten my darkness."

A small whimper escaped her lips and I pressed her closer to me, ignoring the warmth of her blood and body as it was pressed against me. I closed my eyes to memorize these final moments while her heart continued to pump out its vital liquid all over me, and caressed her back soothingly, knowing her pain would soon end and in place if it would be an astonishing glory, a pleasure that no one could know unless resurrected.

Finally, her body fell limp in my arms and I knew that she was dead. With a final, resounding thought, I tightened my grasp upon her body and clenched my eyes tightly. I had saved her from whatever Hells she knew before her. I have loved her so much and knowing that since I couldn't have her that nobody else should. My body began to tremble in fear as I dug my face into the crook of her neck even more, into the frills of hair that she had always worn with pride. Her scent lingered around me for the remaining, dying seconds; her aroma lingered in my nostrils and I knew that it would stay there forever.

"Christine," I murmured, feeling my own body growing weaker by the moment. "I'm so sorry, Christine."

A warm trickle fell down my face and I knew that I was crying without even having to look into a mirror. Instead, I kept my eyes clenched tightly and held her body to mine as I prayed for forgiveness. I had loved her for ever and there would never be a thing that would take that away from me. My body began to shiver violently and my breath began to come jaggedly.

"Christine," I cried and felt myself collapsing. I landed, her body still clutched tightly to my own, and I bent over her and began to sob.

"I'm so sorry," I cried into her neck. "Please, forgive me."

**_Fin__

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_Die Die My Darling - Metallica  
(Originally recorded by The Misfits)_

Due to the Fanfiction God's if you would like to view the lyrics of this song you may do a search of the name.


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